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(The Entitled Duet #1) The Entitled
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People say you can’t find your soul mate at eight years old. I did.
I found Reed and loved him more than I loved myself. We were young…beautiful…entitled.
Money and private schools, our families’ lavish parties and posh New York City apartments—it was all mere window dressing. What was real was our obsessive love, which grew right along with us as we moved toward adulthood. It consumed me, and only in his arms did I feel wanted and safe.
But I have a secret. It’s big and to some, unforgivable. And it’s why I let Reed destroy me, or maybe I destroyed us. Either way, I’m worse than broke—I’m broken.
Once upon a time, we were happy…Yet privilege has an ugly underside and in the blink of an eye, my world crashed down around me.
I don’t feel entitled anymore.
The Entitled is the first in The Entitled duet. Their story concludes in The Enlightened.
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the domination of one’s thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire, etc.
And in the end, we were all just humans,
drunk on the idea that love,
only love, could heal our brokenness.
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
Present day – twenty-five years old
“Deeper… Yeah… that’s it, suck me hard.” Leaning my head back, I close my eyes. It’s too bright for me. I should have made her turn off the lights. The warm mouth that’s sucking makes me moan, distracting me. The woman squirms, her hands reaching for my tight balls. She definitely knows how to suck my cock. If I could keep her from talking, we would have a perfect relationship.
The fantasy that I need, crave, is there, waiting for me. Grabbing the back of her head, I shove myself down her throat.
“Yeah, that’s it, suck… like that,” I growl at her.
I’m way too large for her to take me comfortably. Roughly I hold her head, watching her brown eyes widen as she starts to gag. Staring at her, I wonder why women allow me to do this. I almost ask her, but that would require her to speak. She tries again to deep throat me, working her hardest to accommodate my size. My stomach muscles clench. Her smell fills my nose: arousal and flowers. Why does every woman wear so much perfume? Except one… one didn’t. Vanilla. That’s what I desperately need to smell. I should have lit some candles. It would have helped me, soothed me. Aggravated at the thought, I pull her even tighter.
“Fuck yeah, that’s it. Breathe through your nose.” Mascara and tears cover her cheeks, her nostrils flaring. Taking pity on her, I release her head. She sucks in air with a small gasp. Like a cat in heat, she frantically grabs at me. A smile is on her lips like she is pleased with herself. Scooting forward, she pumps my cock from root to tip, then spits the thick saliva that comes from the back of her throat, making it easier for her to stroke me. Starting slow, then almost savagely, she goes at it.
Pleasure fills me, taking me to that place. “I like that.” Grunting, I lean my head back and my eyes close, blocking out all noise, everything but her. My fantasy, my soul, my greatest regret.
She starts to suck me again, and in my mind, I see her. Beautiful blue eyes stare up at me. Black long lashes sweep down, her brown hair like silk in my hands. Up and down, she sucks and strokes, fuck if only… If only.
“Like that baby?”
What the fuck? Her voice startles me back to the present.
My eyes snap open, the precious fantasy gone as I blink at the lights in my penthouse, reminding me where I am.
“Fuck.” Roughly I pull her mouth off me with a loud pop. She reaches for my cock like I stole her lollipop. Grabbing her hair, holding her still, I give her a firm jerk, my desire to get off gone. Somewhat hurt, she whimpers, licking her lips, her brown eyes questioning.
My phone rings again. Absently my eyes drift to where I left it charging on the counter.
“I asked you not to talk. It shouldn’t be that hard if you kept my cock in your mouth.”
“Sorry, you’re right.” She whines, “Can I try again?” Her swollen lips almost make her look deformed with the amount of collagen she has pumped into them.
Pulling my pants up, I tuck my dick back in as she watches like an adoring, defeated puppy.
I shake my head. “Lay off the injections. You’re starting to look like a duck.”
Moving her aside, I stand to retrieve my cell phone but still flinch when it rings again. It’s probably a robocall. I grimace, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling.
“But… I thought you liked a girl with big lips?”
Her question makes me freeze, and I turn toward her. “Why would you think that?”
She shrugs. “You mentioned it once, saying you had a thing for puffy lips.” Looking over at the counter, I can’t resist moving toward my phone. My glass penthouse, with its unending view of the stone-gray Thames, is cavernous and sparsely furnished. To a stranger, it would appear I recently moved in. Not that it matters; I’ve been here almost a year. But with the apartment’s emptiness, every sound echoes off the white, unadorned walls.
“You must have misunderstood. I loathe fake lips,” I say, needing to shut her down. Her eyes narrow as though she’s deciding if she believes me. Shaking her long blond hair, she runs her hands through it. My eyes take in her appearance. She is every man’s dream: fake boobs and a tan, fit body. Yet I don’t want her no matter how hard I try.
She can’t understand my need to be cruel. After all, it’s not her fault I’m miserable, and fuck it, she looks absurd. Someone needs to tell her. “They’re too big, Victoria. Also, I don’t like your perfume. Please change it to something else.”